


Trespassing

by purplepanther



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, F/M, Groping, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplepanther/pseuds/purplepanther
Summary: Emma wear's a bikini to Mr. O'Neill's pool. Things don't go as planned.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Trespassing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alecto_Furie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alecto_Furie/gifts).



Emma eagerly accepts the package from the delivery person before she runs to the kitchen with it and cuts open the package, her heart pounding as she pulls out the plastic wrapped material. Her cheeks heat as she sees just how little cloth there is. Tearing through the plastic, her fingers slide over the smooth fabric of the bikini that her mother had forbidden her from buying.

In the bathroom, Emma quickly strips out of her clothing. She giggles as she does a spin in front of the full length mirror, her smile turning to a frown as her eyes land on her flat chest. All of her friends were at least in training bras. Her mom had said not to worry, that all the women in their family were late bloomers. In fact her mom’s breasts hadn’t grown until her junior year of high school where she’s gone from nothing to a D-cup in seemingly no time at all.

No, Emma gives herself a shake. She won’t dwell on this. Today’s her day to have fun with her mom away on a business trip. It’s more of a struggle than she expects to get the ties right and make sure the material is covering what it should, and when she raises her eyes to the mirror again, her mouth falls open in surprise.

A nervous giggle rises from her throat as she sees just how much skin is exposed beneath the pale pink fabric. Her old tan lines are a stark contrast against flesh that’s never seen the sun before. She feels delightfully naughty as she spins in the mirror once more.

Pulling her shirt and shorts back on over her swimsuit, Emma grabs a towel and heads out the door. Looking around to make sure that no one sees, she crosses to her neighbor’s yard, and uses the key she’s nicked from her mom to carefully unlock and slip through his side gate.

Everyone knows that Mr. O’Neill has a huge pool, the avid swimmer hosting many summer parties at his house, even allowing his neighbors to use it when he wasn’t home. She knows that she’s not supposed to be here unsupervised, but this is far from the first time she’d done this, and she’s certain it’s far from the last. Nothing’s gone wrong in the past, so clearly that means nothing will go wrong today, right?

It takes Emma a long moment to pull off her shirt and shorts, suddenly feeling shy even though she knows she’s alone. Cheeks burning, she glances back at the house that she knows is empty—Mr. O’Neill always works Saturdays—before stripping quickly, dumping her clothes and towel on a chair.

Climbing the short ladder to the diving board, Emma shivers as the breeze flows over her bare skin. Standing at the end of it, she gives a test bounce, raising her arms to dive.

“Emma Rai Myer, what are—”

Emma yelps, the rest of the words lost as she jumps and slips off the plank. As she all but belly flops into the pool beneath her, she can’t help but shriek in pain, inhaling water as her body seems to seize and refuses to do what she wants. It seems like an eternity before her head breaks the surface again, strong arms wrapping around her and pressing her against a hard chest as she sputters and gasps.

Mr. Neill pulls them both out of the water, and she clings to him as she begins to tremble and then she begins to cry, the realization that if she’s hurt herself and Mr. O’Neill hadn’t been there to pull her out that she could have drowned.

Emma’s cries eventually slow, fading to small hiccups when she suddenly realizes just how close they are and how little material is between them, Mr. O’Neill wearing only the speedo he always wears when swimming. She’s had a crush on him for the moment she’d first seen him when he’d moved in three years ago, and to be so close to him is both a dream come true and a nightmare due to the why of it.

Emma knows she should apologize, that she should move, but instead she blurts out, “Please don’t tell my mom!” She’s overcome with the sudden fear that the hard-won freedom she’d finally received this year will be taken away from her, that she’ll have to have a babysitter again.

Hesitantly she raises his eyes, fearing Mr. O’Neill’s anger or worse his disappointment. Instead the look on his face is strange, contemplative perhaps.

Leaning back against the chaise lounge he’d sat them on, Mr. O’Neill grabs the bottle of sunscreen from the table sitting beside it, leaving Emma straddling his lap. “Did you remember your sunscreen?” he asks.

“No,” Emma says, shaking her head, shivering as the mass of her wet hair slides across the bare skin of her back. She usually uses the very bottle in his hands, but she’s been so preoccupied with her new swimsuit that it hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Let’s fix that then. It wouldn’t do to have you burn.” Mr. O’Neill squeezes a dollop into his hands, and rubs them together before he slides them up Emma’s sides.

A startled giggle rises from Emma’s lips as the touch tickles, distracting her from the subject change, her worry fading. She feels like she should say something, do something, but she sits, nearly completely frozen as Mr. O’Neill’s hands travel from her sides to her tummy. Everyplace he touches grows warm and she bites her lip as his hands rise higher and higher until they brush the bottom edge of her bikini top.

“You know I have security cameras.”

Emma’s head jerks up, eyes huge as she turns and looks at the camera point directly at the pool, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid.

Mr. O’Neill’s smile is incredibly sharp as his fingers continue to slide back and forth along the bottom edge of her bikini top. “I thought that you were too young, but then I saw that bikini, and I knew you were ready, that my wait was finally over.

She draws in a startled breath as his knuckles brush against one of her nipples through the thin material covering it.

“Mr. O’Neill, I—”

Emma is certain she’s going to go up in flames when Mr. O’Neill suddenly squeezes her nipple.

“Look at these little sixth grade tits. They’re just begging to be touched.””

Shaking her head, Emma shifts, meaning to stand, but Mr. O’Neill’s hands on her waist, pressing her firmly down against him, stops her. Feeling something hard poking between her legs, she looks down, cheeks growing even hotter as she sees the unmistakable, swollen outline of his penis straining against his speedos. She’s not a baby or stupid. She knows what sex is, have giggled at it with her girl friend looks at porn on the internet more than once, but she also knows that this is wrong.

Grown men aren’t supposed to have sex with girls her age. Only married people are supposed to have sex. Her mother had warned her about men like this, about what happened to girls who wore things like this. Maybe she should have listened.

“We wouldn’t want your mother to know how much of a bad girl you are, would we?” Mr. O’Neill says

“Please, Mr. O’Neill. Just let me go, and I won’t ever do it again.”

Mr. O’Neill stands abruptly, lifting her with ease, and Emma instinctively wraps her legs around his waist as she grabs onto his shoulder for balance. “Now, I know you’re a smart girl, Emma, sneaking in here for weeks now,” Mr. O’Neill says as he steps into his house, locking the door behind him as he walks down a long hallway.

The deeper they get into the house, the more Emma realizes just how trapped she is. Even the shadows seem to reach out towards them. One of his hands is securely wedged beneath her bottom, squeezing her there, and the other slides up her back, under her hair to tug at the tie at the back of her neck that secures her top.

Emma gasps as the material starts to droop, pressing her arm against it to hold it in place. She lets out a startled scream when she’s suddenly tossed onto a bed, bouncing for a moment before she scrambles back against the headboard.

Her mind doesn’t understand what she’s seeing, the way Mr. O’Neill’s body seems to blur and ripple, stretch and grow, towering over her as the air grows thick.

She wants to scream, to shout, to run, as his skin changes to a strange purple-gray, as horns grow from his head and wings burst from his back, as the monster—because that is certainly not Mr. O’Neill—crawls towards her, the movements inhuman, but she can’t move, not even when too long-claw tipped fingers wrap around her ankle and pull her down until she’s flat on her back.

The body blankets hers, making her suddenly feel very small.

“I’ve been waiting years for this,” says the creature with Mr. O’Neill’s voice.

Whimpering as his head drops closer to hers, his mouth full of far too many teeth, Emma tries to turn her head away, closing her eyes to block out this nightmare.

She yelps as sharp claws dig into her jaw.

“Open your eyes.”

Emma has no choice but to do as she’s told, locking eyes with the monster whose face stares back at her from scant inches away, a face that has her eyes.

Before she can wonder about that, a too long tongue pushes past her lips as one hand slips beneath the loose material of her top, pushing it up, to pinch one of her nipples. She gasps and tries to squirm away, but the creature just shoves his tongue deeper while he forces his legs between her, spreading them open.

When he pulls away, Emma lies limp and dazed. She barely has the strength to lift her head when he reaches her chest, swirling his tongue around one nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Emma whimpers at the strange sensation because she’d certainly never felt like this when she tried to touch herself there. “No, stop!” she says when his fingers slip between his legs, sliding beneath her bikini bottom, touching places that no one but her had ever touched.

Emma gasps, back arching when a finger presses deeply inside of her.

“Look at you. Already wet and I’ve barely touched you. Why did I wait so long? I could have had you the day, I moved in, couldn’t I?”

A second finger quickly joins the first, and she beats her fists against his shoulders as she starts to cry. He catches them and easily, pushing them to her sides.

She only has a moment’s warning, sees the flash of his penis—she’s certain it hadn’t been that large before—rising between his legs before he pushes her legs up and presses into her. For a moment it seems like it’s not going to fit, that it can’t possibly fit, but then her flesh gives way. The hand that suddenly covers her mouth blocks the scream that rises from her chest as he cruelly stretches her young body.

Emma’s mind is awash in a confused sea of sensations because it hurts. It hurts so bad. But somehow at the same time, it feels good.

“Nothing beats elementary school pussy,” Mr. O’Neill says above her.

Emma’s world tilts as she sees Mr. O’Neill’s face again, but again his eyes are the same as the monster’s, as her own. Her sobs are muffled by his hand as he rocks into her slowly at first and then with greater speed. When his hands drops away, Emma’s words are ragged. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s in your blood.” With each movement of his hips the pain fades some, becoming less sharp, less overpowering, still there but bearable, and a strange gooey warmth builds in her tummy. She suddenly fears she’s going to pee, when Mr. O’Neill stops suddenly, thrusting into her completely, stretching her uncomfortably, fully and deeply. A warmth feels her then, and she screams, her back arching as she shatters into a million pieces, shaking apart beneath a monster.

When Emma opens her eyes again, she’s laying on Mr. O’Neill’s chest, his penis still hard within her as a strange wetness leaks out of her. She pushes herself up with a whimpering gasp as he shifts with her.

“Your grandmother was an incredible woman,” Mr. O’Neill says conversationally with a roll of his hips, causing Emma to gasp again and bounce on his lap.

“Nana?” Emma asked confused, her poor mind overwhelmed by what was happening to her, what her grandmother had to do with any of this. Emma had grown up with her mother and Nana, never having known her father. In fact, her Nana had died of a strange wasting disease less than a month before Mr. O’Neill had moved in next door. She squeaks when he reaches up and squeezes her nipples, and they both moan as she tightens around his cock.

“Oh yes, she was a crafty one, a powerful witch intent on finding the key to immortality. I gave it to her too, until she betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Emma askes, her mind skipping over the fact that he’d said ‘witch’—still overwhelmed. The sudden need to move hits her and she’s unable to fight it, squirming as her belly grew hot and gooey again.

“Gods, how are you so tight?” Mr. O’Neill asks as he begins to bounce his hips, pulling Emma back tightly against his lap after each one. “She promised me a daughter. It’s her own fault for not reading the fine print. When she found me in bed with your mother—my daughter—she cast me out with the help of a powerful coven, preventing me from having contact with my own daughter, my own blood, and removing all memories of me from her mind. But it was already too late. My seed is always true, and I can be patient. When I finally saw you, I knew you’d be mine.”

Mr. O’Neill rolls them unexpectedly, and Emma lays there mute as her pleasure-dazed mind tries to comprehend what he’s saying.

Mr. O’Neill drops his head and licks along the curve of her ear, drawing a shudder out of her as he continues to rock against her body. “Even without her memories, your mother named you as mine. Your middle name Rai, she named you after me, tied you to me more tightly than any contract for my name is Raizelaki, and I am your father.”

Emma’s eyes are huge and glazed, her body trembling as Mr. O’Neill’s body changes once more above her and within her, drawing a whimper from her as she’d stretched so perfectly by this demon.

“Say it, Emma.”

The words fall from Emma’s lips unbidden, ripped from her soul as her eyes lock on their twins, “Papa Raizelaki.”

“My perfect mate.” His eyes glow before a bright light fills the room, leaving her momentarily blinded, unable to see the shadowy orb that sinks into her chest. She feels the effect of it though, the pleasure causing her to shatter again, but this time it’s not scary, and she embraces it, not realizing that she’s being reformed, the pieces of her being reshaped.

“Never again shall we be parted.”

The words follow Emma into sleep, a strange sense of coming home settling within her, her last thought of what a difference a bikini can make.


End file.
